Rise of Legends (The Kin of Kings Book 2)

by Narro, B. T.

  Completely exhausted, Basen was forced to stop. He covered his head with both hands as an onslaught of teeth began digging into his fingers. He tried to throw them off, but there were just too many.

  Peter climbed on top of him to help, but the weight of the warrior was too much for Basen’s lungs, as he’d already been struggling for breath before being crushed into the bumpy stone. Peter screamed as he thrashed, his chin digging into Basen’s head. Pain in his chest overwhelmed him. He wanted to scream that he couldn’t breathe, but he needed breath to do so.

  Then he felt nothing.

  Suddenly Basen was on his back…and not in the same spot. He had the sense that time had passed, though he didn’t know how much.

  Alabell had a hand on his head. “It’s fine,” she soothed. “We’re out of there now. Take some slow breaths and let me know how your chest feels.”

  He sat up, then noticed he was at the top of a stairway, air lightly whistling by. Although it was the same dense air as within the hidden passageway, it was still refreshing against his clammy skin. Alabell rubbed a potion into the cuts on his hands and fingers. The excitement of her touch replaced the sting of his injuries. She finished and then began to wrap them as she asked, “How is it to breathe? Is there any pain?”

  “None.”

  “You’re going to be fine.” She seemed as relieved as he felt.

  He squeezed his hands to make fists against the hold of the bandages, testing his flexibility. He couldn’t separate his fingers from one another, but he could almost close his hand completely, enough to grip a wand or a sword.

  “What happened?” He looked at Peter. The warrior was seated at the top of the stairs, rubbing blood off his hands with a cloth.

  “You got most of them,” Peter said. “I got the rest.”

  Alabell came to inspect his hands.

  Basen got to his feet, but wooziness nearly made him fall. He regained his balance before anyone noticed, then turned to see where they’d carried him from. The uneven stone floor he stood upon came to a drop, while the stone ceiling tilted down along with it. He walked over for a quick look. A blackened heap of rodent carcasses lay against the corner below.

  “How’d they all get trapped in there?” he asked.

  “The Fjallejons put them there,” Jackrie said. She had her hands on her hips as she sucked in deep breaths, seemingly too tired to brush aside the strands of hair that had fallen over her eyes. Basen took it to mean that he hadn’t been out long. “The Fjallejons eat those things, and we just killed them all. They won’t be happy with us when they find out. We need to move.”

  The scrapes on Basen’s back ached as he started down the stairs. They descended into what looked to be a natural cave, with misshapen holes between jagged pillars. It was dead quiet, possibly empty, with no clear pathways made by man.

  Jackrie started going one way, then chose another, and then stopped. She formed a triangle with her thumbs and index fingers pointing out from her stomach. “Just keep going north if we separate.” She raised her arms to indicate the direction to the group.

  But most of the cave was filled by columns of rocks that extended from the ground to the high roof, making it impossible to go straight in any one direction for long, let alone north. Jackrie continued pointing as their path took them in nearly every direction except the one she wanted.

  After a while, it seemed impossible for her to still be accurately pointing to the north. She must’ve thought the same thing, for she dropped her hands with a sigh just as they came to a fork with two new routes going in opposite directions.

  At least they had maintained a quick pace until then, and now it seemed that they’d finally come to the end of the cave. The two pathways ahead were tunnels that looked to be made by the tools of humans or Fjallejons. Jackrie investigated both, then gave a quick yet frustrated upturn of her palms before choosing the left one. They ran through, with the sound of their footsteps echoing behind them.

  They found themselves in another cave similar to the one they’d left. Basen thought he heard Jackrie mutter a curse, though she didn’t slow. She took them around more twisted pillars of rock, some with holes cut into them as if to act as a window. None of it made sense to him. Where were they now, and why hadn’t they encountered any Fjallejons or at least any more of Tauwin’s—or perhaps Abith’s—men?

  Driven by what seemed to be panic, Jackrie prioritized speed over all else as she picked a direction and climbed over humps of speckled rock to stick to it. “Come on, keep up.” She sounded like a lost mother trying to be brave for her children.

  Basen continued to feel for places he could make a portal, though he began to wonder if his focus would be better spent helping Jackrie look for a way out. However, he kept at it, and eventually the familiar feeling came.

  He stopped short as a thrill stirred his chest.

  Alabell bumped into him. “Oof. What’s wrong?”

  “I feel it.”

  The rest of the group stopped. Jackrie looked hopeful. “Right there?”

  “Right here,” he confirmed. “I need to remember this spot.”

  Cleve and Peter had their bows in hand, but Peter went so far as to draw an arrow as he nervously looked around. “Do it quickly.”

  Basen wasn’t sure he could. This part of the cave seemed no different than the rest.

  “Up there, look.” Jackrie pointed directly above Basen’s head. High above, the tunnel’s ceiling seemed to glow. He and Jackrie let out their lights to confirm it, and everyone gaped at the serene light. It was as if the ceiling was reflecting something as silver as the moon, but there was nothing at their feet.

  “What could be making that?” Annah asked.

  Basen knew but figured Jackrie would answer, for she must’ve felt it, too. But she only shrugged. “We don’t have time to speculate. Basen, have you familiarized yourself enough here?”

  “Not yet, but we don’t have to speculate about what’s making the light.” He raised his arm toward the ceiling. “It’s bastial energy. I can feel it.”

  Jackrie hurried to stand beside him, then lifted her arm toward it as well. “I can’t feel anything. Do what you need to so you can remember this spot and let’s go.”

  So she wouldn’t even give him another moment to figure out why there was so much bastial energy above them. He looked around and tried to memorize his surroundings. But after a moment, it didn’t feel as if he’d made much progress. “Someone do something memorable to make it easier for me.”

  A hand slapped his ass. “Now let’s go,” Cleve said, deadpan.

  It took a moment for Basen to confirm that it was indeed Cleve’s hand he’d felt, for the emotionless swordsman was the only one close enough to have done it.

  Alabell snickered. “I think you’ll remember that.”

  “I certainly will.” Basen took one last look at his surroundings and then nodded to Jackrie.

  They hurried off, and soon Jackrie brought them to another tunnel that differed from the rest of the cave. This one was short and straight, but a boulder as high as Basen’s chin impeded their progress. Just behind it, the tunnel widened into what looked to be an enormous cavern.

  “What’s behind the boulder, Cleve?” Jackrie stood on her toes to reach her arm up and point her wand over, illuminating the dark.

  Basen put his hand on her shoulder. “Let me.” She looked like she needed a rest more than anyone in their group, sweat running down her temples.

  She stepped away with a rueful look on her face.

  He hopped and grabbed the round top, hoisting himself up until he was balanced on his stomach atop it. He freed his wand from its holder on his belt and made light.

  The cavern was vast and full of Fjallejons. The half-sized men and women were easy to recognize even though Basen had never met one. They awoke to his light, seemingly alarmed as they muttered in their low voices to rouse those still sleeping.

  There must’ve been hundreds. The clear sound of
annoyance coalesced as their voices rose, their language smeared by grunts. He took one last moment to aim light over them to see if an escape route awaited, but there was nothing but three walls.

  He slid down. “It’s the Fjallejon sleeping quarters. There’s no way through it, and it doesn’t sound like they appreciate being woken up.”

  Jackrie’s shoulders sank. She went back the way they’d come and rounded the corner. She stopped suddenly and threw her arm out protectively to keep Annah from going past her. Basen flinched as an arrow darted over them and cracked against the wall.

  “Get back!” Jackrie ordered. They retreated to the boulder.

  An onslaught of arrows and fireballs struck where Jackrie and Annah had just stood. Fire rolled along the wall, heat waves bending the arrows. God’s mercy, how many are right around that corner?

  The onslaught ceased. Cleve and Peter had arrows ready for anyone who dared to approach.

  “Get this moved,” Jackrie whispered and pointed at the boulder. But just as Basen got his hands on it, a spear came down and pricked him.

  A half-sized woman with skin like leather pointed her weapon between his eyes. She said something he couldn’t understand as she balanced confidently on the top of the boulder.

  More Fjallejons climbed up behind her. Spears were tossed to them, which they promptly pointed at him as well.

  Basen put up his hands and backed up a step. He heard footsteps behind him and spun around. Cleve and Peter both loosed their arrows into the chest of the same man, whose feet came out from under him. Another man came around next, but Cleve already had another arrow ready and shot him down. Peter’s arrow struck a third enemy.

  By then, Basen and Jackrie were ready with their wands, but they bumped into each other trying to find an angle around Cleve and Peter. No other enemies seemed to come, however.

  The Fjallejons screamed and grunted.

  “We’re sorry,” Annah told them. “Please, we mean no harm.” No doubt she used psyche as she pleaded.

  “Why you fight?” a Fjallejon asked, her common tongue heavily accented. “You say no fight our mountain. Reason we allow you here.”

  Basen could hear footsteps shuffling about around the corner. Men whispered to each other just out of sight. Suddenly, an archer jumped out with an arrow already notched. But Cleve and Peter were ready, shooting him before he could aim. He stumbled backward as he shot, his arrow hitting the low ceiling of the tunnel and breaking in half.

  “We do not want to fight,” Annah explained to the Fjallejons now squatting at the top of the boulder. “We’re just trying to get through to Tenred, but these men are trying to kill us.”

  The Fjallejon translated Annah’s message to the others behind her. A quick commotion broke out among them. All but the translator climbed down off the boulder and disappeared while the translator rested her stumpy legs alongside the boulder. She was remarkably more comfortable than Basen in this situation, her beady eyes showing no fear.

  Cleve and Peter stoically watched the only way in, arrows at the ready. Jackrie stood behind them with just enough room between them to shoot so long as neither of the large men moved. Basen glanced back and forth between the Fjallejon on the boulder, who held her spear as if she would jab him if he came too close, and the turn just ahead, where he knew more men stood around the corner, plotting to kill.

  Annah pointed in the direction of their enemies and spoke slowly to the Fjallejon. “They killed our king. He didn’t want to fight. None of us do. Now they’re trying to take the rest of Kyrro.”

  “King always die. New king take Kyrro. Humans never satisfy. Fjallejons enjoy peace, humans no enjoy peace. You promise peace to us, you break promise. Always. War never stop for much time.”

  “We don’t want war,” Annah explained. “They do. They’re trying to kill us to take our land.”

  The Fjallejon translated over her shoulder. Then Basen heard many deep voices murmuring, giving him the impression that hundreds of Fjallejons had gathered around the boulder to listen.

  “Who’s leading this group?” called out a deep tenor that sent prickles down Basen’s back. He recognized Abith Max’s voice from his years of training with the master mage.

  “I am,” Jackrie announced.

  “This is Abith Max. Who are you?”

  “Just call me Mage,” Jackrie shouted back.

  “Are you from the Academy?” Even in the tense situation, Abith still managed to sound friendly as he often had while advising Basen on how to best cast complex spells.

  But Jackrie didn’t reply.

  The Fjallejon translated all to her kin.

  “You must know there’s no way out of here alive,” Abith added as if he was giving advice, not issuing a threat. “Surrender and you won’t be killed.”

  Alabell touched Jackrie’s shoulder and whispered, “You mustn’t.”

  Even if the rest of them were allowed to live, Alabell certainly wouldn’t. Her relation to the late King Kerr meant Tauwin would have her killed. There might even be a reward offered for the person who took her life.

  Jackrie put her hand on top of Alabell’s and nodded, then paused for a moment of thought.

  “We have a psychic here who can tell if you lie.” She beckoned for Annah, who came to her side. “What will truly happen to us if we give up?”

  It was silent for a long moment.

  Abith rushed around the corner with a thick sartious shield floating in front of him. Cleve and Peter shot their arrows, but neither could penetrate the thick energy. Abith barreled toward them with his shoulder low. Jackrie shot her fireball before he could get there. It exploded against the green shield and knocked Cleve and Peter onto their backs.

  It was too late for Basen to cast his fireball, for Abith was already standing over Cleve, and a swarm of men had come in behind him. Abith let the block of sartious energy drop. Cleve rolled to avoid it as it hit the ground and broke into pieces.

  There was just enough room for two people to stand shoulder to shoulder in the narrow tunnel, though everyone seemed to push against each other to find a position. Basen shot around Abith and into the lot of enemies. His fire exploded against one man, who screamed as his flesh burned while the others ran past him as if he didn’t exist.

  To Basen’s surprise, Abith drew a bastial steel sword. It must’ve been a gift from Tauwin. With a sharp crack of metal, it clashed against Cleve’s bastial steel sword just in front of his face. Peter drove his weapon at Abith, narrowly missing Abith’s ribs as he somersaulted forward off Cleve. He lunged toward Jackrie, but Basen anticipated the attack and batted down his sword with his own.

  When Abith’s gaze collided with Basen’s, he could see recognition dawn in his former instructor’s expression. Abith suddenly jumped as a flash of color swiped down and took Basen’s sword out of his hand. As the moment of shock passed, he realized it was Cleve trying to take Abith’s arm off. On his way up, Abith thrust at Basen, but he rolled toward his fallen sword to avoid it.

  By the time Basen got his weapon back in hand, Abith had somehow knocked over both Peter and Cleve. He left them and turned toward Jackrie, but Annah sprang out from her cowering position in the back. Her psyche took Abith down to a knee. He grunted and forced himself back up as if standing against the weight of a waterfall.

  Basen swiped at his legs, but Abith jumped and kicked him in the face. Basen stumbled backward into the wall as Abith came after him.

  “I’m sorry to have to do this,” Abith said.

  Basen blocked the first swing of Abith’s bastial steel sword, but the second was a blur. It cut into Basen’s leg just below his hip, and he let out a scream. At least his flesh slowed Abith’s weapon enough for Basen to get his wand out. But Abith grabbed Basen’s wrist and twisted.

  “You were my best student,” Abith said as if it pained him.

  A scream tore out of Basen’s throat as his arm threatened to break. He tried to head butt Abith, but he dodged and then kneed Basen
in the groin. He barely kept from collapsing and raised his sword just in time to block a slash that would’ve cut open his chest.

  Abith looked both surprised and proud.

  With Basen’s back pressed against the wall, there was nowhere to go. The Fjallejon’s boulder blocked the path to his left, and the three women of his group were pressed against each other to his right, Jackrie trying to find an opportunity to cast without killing Basen in the process. Cleve and Peter stood shoulder to shoulder just past her, both busy holding off a small army.

  Abith forced him to block a flurry of strikes. He was too quick and skilled. It would be only a matter of time before he would get through Basen’s defense. Fortunately, Jackrie had put away her wand and now rushed at Abith with a dagger, but he kicked her with ease, too quickly for Basen to take advantage of his vulnerability.

  Annah aimed her palm at Abith with her face contorted, but he continued to resist her psyche flawlessly, giving off just a small grunt.

  “Take down the other men,” Basen told her, knowing it would give Cleve and Peter a chance to help him.

  She shifted her arm and let out a loud shriek. From the corner of his eye, Basen noticed the soldier in front of Peter crumple to the ground.

  The warrior spun around with his weapon over his head, but Abith was ready. As quick as a cat, he struck Peter on the nose. There was a sickly crack as blood spurted out. Peter cursed and grabbed his face. Cleve barely saved him from getting stabbed from behind by one of Abith’s men, then kicked the attacking enemy backward and moved forward to block the entire path.

  Basen barreled his shoulder into Abith, knocking him against the jagged wall. But his spry teacher bounced off as if it were rubber and nearly took Basen’s head off with a quick slash. By the time Basen was upright again, Abith had knocked Peter over. Basen dove and grabbed Abith’s leg before he could impale Cleve from behind. It halted him only for a blink before he shook his leg free.